


Born Under a Bad Sign (2.14)

by ackles_ass_equation



Series: Superghetto [37]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Related, Demon Sam, Episode: s02e14 Born Under a Bad Sign, Jo Harvelle & Dean Winchester Friendship, One-Sided Attraction, Possessed Sam, Screenplay/Script Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:34:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7189169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackles_ass_equation/pseuds/ackles_ass_equation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam contacts Dean afta bein missin fo' a week. When they reunite, Dean findz Sam covered up in blood n' wit no recollection of what tha fuck happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. NOW

EXT. UNDERPASS - DAY

DEAN is on his beeper, leanin against his hoopty yo. Dude is fidgeting, clearly upset.

**DEAN**  
Ellen, itz me again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Any chizzle you've heard from him, biatch?   
(beat)  
I swear, itz like lookin fo' mah daddy all over again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I be losin mah mind here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho.   
(beat)  
Fuck dat shit, I've called his ass a thousand times, there be a not a god damn thang but voicemail. I don't give a fuck where da thug went, or why. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Samz just gone.  
(his cell beeper beeps)  
Hang on.  
(the beeper shows another incomin call - SAM'S CELL yo. Dude lyrics dat shit.)  
Sammy, biatch? Where tha hell is yo slick ass, biatch? Is you aiiight, biatch?   
(beat)  
Yo, hey, hey dawwwwg! Calm down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Where is yo slick ass, biatch? All right, don't move, I be on mah way.   


  
INT. MOTEL - DAY

SAM hangs up tha beeper slowly, lookin numb yo. His knucklez is bloody.

DEAN drives ta reach Sam, passin a sign readin TWIN LAKES; he arrives all up in tha hotel n' parks, gets out.   


  
INT. MOTEL - DAY

DEAN strutts frantically down a narrow hallway, checkin door numbers until he reaches room 109 yo. Dude knocks. 

**DEAN  
** Sam, itz mah dirty ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sam!

Dude tries tha door - itz open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Inside, SAM aint moved, still chillin numbly on one bed.

**DEAN  
** Sam, biatch? Hey.

**SAM  
** Yo, Dean.

**DEAN**  
(kneelin beside him)  
Is you bleeding?

**SAM  
** I tried ta wash it off.

**DEAN**  
(seein SAM'S hoodie covered up in blood; he gropes at it, searchin fo' a wound.)  
Oh mah god. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 

**SAM  
** I don't be thinkin itz mah blood.

**DEAN  
** Whose is it?

**SAM  
** I don't give a gangbangin' fuck.

**DEAN  
** Sam, what tha fuck tha hell happened?

**SAM**  
(finally lookin up)  
Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I don't remember anything. 


	2. ACT ONE

INT. MOTEL ROOM - DAY

DEAN returns ta tha room, carryin a grocery bag. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM has chizzled threadz n' is lookin a lil less outta dat shit.

 **SAM  
** What'd you smoke up?

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass checked up in two minutes ago under tha name Slick Rick Sambora. Of course, I be thinkin tha scariest part bout dis whole thang is tha fact dat you a Bon Jovi fan,

 **SAM  
** Dean.

 **DEAN  
** Yo crazy-ass roomz been on tha fuckin' down-low, no muthafuckaz noticed anythang unusual.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass mean no one saw me struttin round covered up in blood?

 **DEAN  
** Yeah. Thatz what tha fuck I mean.

 **SAM  
** Then how tha fuck tha hell did I git here, Dean, biatch? What happened ta me son?

 **DEAN  
** I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. But you is, you aiiight, n' thatz what tha fuck matters. Everythang else we can deal with.

 **SAM  
** Oh straight-up, biatch? 'Cause what tha fuck if I hurt one of mah thugs, biatch? Or worse?

 **DEAN  
** Sam . . .

 **SAM  
** What if dis is what tha fuck Dad warned you about?

 **DEAN  
** Yo, whoa, whoa, come on dude, letz not jump tha glock here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Us dudes don't give a fuck what tha fuck happened. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! We've just gots ta treat dis like, like any other thang. Whatz tha last thang you remember?

 **SAM**  
(sitting)  
Just me n' you, just, up in dat motel room up in Westside Texas, goin up ta grab some burgers, and... 

 **DEAN  
** Westside Texas, biatch? That was, dat was over a week ago. 

 **SAM**  
Thatz dat shit.  
(DEAN looks stunned)  
Next thang I knew I was chillin here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Bloody. Felt like I'd been asleep fo' a month.

 **DEAN**  
Okay. Retrace yo' steps. Da manager holla'd you left yesterdizzle afternoon n' he never saw you come back, so,  
(pullin back tha curtain, he findz a funky-ass bloody fingerprint on tha window)  
Hey.  


  
EXT. MOTEL - DAY

SAM n' DEAN strutt outside tha motel. It aint nuthin but daylight yo, but raining.

 **DEAN  
** Recognize anything?

 **SAM**  
Not straight-up.  
(they go towardz a parkin garage up back)  
Wait.

 **DEAN  
** What?

 **SAM  
** I be thinkin I was here.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass remember?

 **SAM**  
Not straight-up, it just ... feels familiar, you know?  
(DEAN shrugs, goes ta tha nearest garage. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM looks over ta tha second, points.)  
Try dat one. Yeah.

 **DEAN**  
(tuggin on tha padlock)  
Okay.

 **SAM  
** Wait.

SAM digs up in his thugged-out lil' pocket, frownin yo. Dude pulls up a key, gives DEAN a thugged-out dope look.

DEAN opens tha padlock wit tha key, raisin his wild lil' fuckin eyebrows at SAM yo. Dude pulls tha garage door open ta reveal a gangbangin' filthy, beat-up VW Beetle. 

 **DEAN  
** Oh, please tell me you didn't loot  _this_.

SAM fidgets, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. They go tha fuck into tha garage n' open both doorz of tha car, SAM on tha driverz side yo. Dude touches tha wheel, shows DEAN his stained finger.

 **SAM  
** Mo' blood.

 **DEAN**  
(pointing)  
Sam. Back seat. 

SAM reaches down, picks up a funky-ass blood-stained knife dat sticks ta tha floor of tha backseat yo. Dude stares at dat shit.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass be thinkin I used dis on one of mah thugs?

 **DEAN**  
(pause)  
I aint thankin anything.

SAM looks around, rubs tha knife handle off on tha inside of his jacket. DEAN picks up a ounce ta tha bounce of blunts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. 

 **DEAN**  
Okay now dis is disturbing. Come on, dude, dis couldn't done been you, biatch yo. Had ta done been one of mah thugs, some muthafucka who, uh   
(sniffs tha pack)  
smokes menthols.

 **SAM**  
Here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Gas receipt. Few towns over.  


  
EXT. GAS STATION - DAY

SAM n' DEAN pull up in front of a lil' small-ass gas station.

 **DEAN**  
All right. Receiptz fo' ten gallons at pump number two. Yo ass gettin any, uh, any goosebumps yet, biatch? 'God, dis looks familiar', deja vu vibes?  
(SAM shakes his head on tha fuckin' down-lowly)  
Maybe one of mah thugs inside'll remember you, biatch. Come on.

They go tha fuck into tha convenience store; tha clerk looks up in shock, then anger.

 **CLERK  
** Yo ass fo'sho. Outta here now, I be callin tha cops. 

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass poppin' off ta him?

 **CLERK  
** Yeah, I be poppin' off ta his muthafuckin ass. Jerk comes up in yesterday, stinkin faded, grabs a gangbangin' forty from tha fridge, starts chugging. 

 **DEAN  
** This muthafucka, biatch? Yo ass is drankin malt liquor?

 **CLERK  
** Not afta da thug whipped tha friggin' forty at mah head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 

 **DEAN  
**_This_  muthafucka?

 **CLERK  
** What, is I bustin lyrics Urdu?

 **SAM  
** Look, I be straight-up sorry if I did anythang -- 

 **CLERK  
** Tell yo' rap struttin', pal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Po-po is ghon be here up in five. 

 **DEAN  
** Wait, wait, put tha beeper down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sam, go wait up in tha car.

 **SAM  
** But Dean -- 

 **DEAN**  
Go wait up in tha hoopty son!  
(SAM sighs, leaves)  
Okay, look, man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I just wanna rap ta you, thatz dat shit. Okay?  
(Da clerk hangs up)  
Now, when tha pimpin' muthafucka took off yesterday, which way did he go?

 **CLERK  
** Why don't you ask him?

 **DEAN  
** 'Cause I be askin you, biatch. Now please, you'd be bustin me a big-ass favor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. 

 **CLERK  
** Oh, do you a gangbangin' favor, biatch? Well, dat is what tha fuck I live for. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Yo ass know, yo' dawg didn't pay fo' tha booze. Okay, biatch? Or tha smokes, which he also illegally lit up. 

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass saw his ass tokin?

 **CLERK  
** Yeah. Guyz a cold-ass lil chimney. 

DEAN clears his cold-ass throat n' pulls his wallet out, places some bills on tha desk.

 **DEAN  
** This, uh, ought ta cover dat shit. 

 **CLERK  
** Hmm. It's, uh, itz comin back ta me now yo. Dude took two packs. 

 **DEAN**  
(pulls up mo' scrilla)  
Of course da ruffneck done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 

 **CLERK  
** Dude went north. Route 71, straight outta town. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. 

DEAN nods, grabs two candy bars n' leaves wit a smirk.  


  
EXT. ROAD - NIGHT

DEAN is rollin down a thugged-out dark road, n' SAM is starin up tha window. 

 **DEAN  
** Whatz goin on wit you, Sam, biatch? Hm, biatch? 'Cause tokin, throwin bottlez at people, I mean, dat soundz mo' like me than you, biatch. 

 **SAM  
** Dean, wait, right here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Turn down dat road.

 **DEAN  
** What?

 **SAM  
** I don't give a fuck how tha fuck I know, I just do. 

DEAN turns down a funky-ass back road n' onto a private property. Well shiiiit, it aint nuthin but a big-ass doggy den wit nuff emergency lightin n' securitizzle cameras outside.

 **SAM  
** Whoever lives here, I'd say they don't like surprises. 

 **DEAN  
** Should we knock?

 **SAM  
** Yeah. I guess.

DEAN knocks on tha front door while SAM pokes round tha corner.

 **SAM  
** Yo Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. 

SAM waves his wild lil' flashlight at a window. It aint nuthin but broken, tha ledge covered up in shattered glass. 

 **DEAN  
** I be surprised tha cops didn't show. Place like dis you'd be thinkin it'd have a alarm.

 **SAM**  
(findin a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disabled alarm on tha wall)  
Yeah, you would. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!   


  
INT yo. HOUSE - NIGHT

They go tha fuck into tha house; tha floor is covered up in fucked up glass n' scattered items. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. In a funky-ass back room, they come across a funky-ass body on tha floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. 

 **DEAN  
** Hit tha lights, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. 

SAM turns tha lights on as DEAN kneels behind tha body yo. Dude places a hand on it n' turns it over; it aint nuthin but a middle-aged playa wit a thugged-out deeply cut throat; he is dead, his wild lil' fuckin eyes staring. DEAN puts a hand over his own grill; SAM looks horrified. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 

 **SAM  
** Dean, I did all dis bullshit.

 **DEAN  
** Us dudes don't give a fuck all dis bullshit.

 **SAM  
** What else do you need, biatch? I mean, how tha fuck else do you explain tha car, tha knife, tha blood -- 

 **DEAN**  
I don't give a fuck, dude, why don't you tell me son?!  
(beat)  
Look, even if you did do dis I be shizzle you had a reason, you know; self-defense, uh, da thug was, da thug was a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitty-ass lil hustla of a funky-ass biiiatch, something!  
(he pats down tha body)  
Dude aint gots any ID. 

 **SAM  
** I need yo' lockpick.

 **DEAN  
** What?

 **SAM  
** I need yo' lockpick.

SAM takes tha lockpick n' opens a thugged-out double-door closet up in tha room. Inside tha room, one wall is covered up in firearms, tha others up in charts n' clippings. 

 **DEAN  
** Holy .... Either dis muthafuckaz a Unabomber -- 

 **SAM  
** Or a hustla n' shit. Dean, I be thinkin I capped a hustla n' shit. 

 **DEAN**  
(seein a securitizzle camera near tha ceiling)  
Letz smoke up. 

LATER, SAM is chillin up in front of tha desktop computer, DEAN standin behind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude cues up tha securitizzle tape.

 **DEAN  
** Here we go. 

On tha tape, SAM is fightin tha same playa whoz ass lies dead on tha floor behind dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Da fight moves off camera n' SAM drags tha playa back tha fuck into tha frame; he kneels, tha playa pulled up against his fuckin legs, n' slits his cold-ass throat. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM stares up in shock as DEAN pulls back from tha screen n' standz straight, looks at SAM. Close on SAM, whoz ass looks down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. 


	3. ACT TWO

SAM is chillin all up in tha computa desk, starin at a page up in his hand; DEAN bustlez round behind him, cleanin up.

 **DEAN  
** How tha fuck do you erase this, biatch? Huh, biatch? Sam, come on, I need yo' help. 

 **SAM  
** I capped him, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I just broke up in n' capped his muthafuckin ass. 

 **DEAN  
** Listen ta mah dirty ass. Whoever dis muthafucka is, he a hustla n' shit. Which means dat other huntas is goin ta come lookin fo' his killer, which means we've gots ta cover our tracks, aiiight?

 **SAM  
** His name was Steve Wandell. This be a letta from his fuckin lil' daughter n' shit. 

DEAN looks from SAM ta tha letter, then cook up a thugged-out decision. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude grabs tha CPU, lifts it above his head, n' smashes it ta tha floor, stompin it wit his boots fo' phat measure. DEAN looks at SAM, still chillin there despondent, tosses a rag ta his muthafuckin ass.

 **DEAN**  
Wipe yo' prints, then we go.   


  
INT. Motel Room - EVENING

SAM precedes DEAN tha fuck into tha motel room.

 **DEAN  
** All right, we git a cold-ass lil couple minutes chill n' then we put dis place up in our rearview mirror. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Look, I know dis is bad, aiiight, biatch? Yo ass gotta snap outta dat shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sam, say something!

 **SAM  
** Just git some chill n' leave up in tha morning, biatch? Murder, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Thatz what tha fuck I done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 

 **DEAN, hustlin fo' lyrics,**  
Maybe.  
(SAM scoffs)  
Okay, biatch? Yo, our phat asses don't give a gangbangin' fuck... shapeshifter son!

 **SAM  
** Oh, come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass know it wasn't, you saw tha tape. There was no eye flare, no distortion,

 **DEAN  
** Yeah yo, but it wasn't you, nahmean biiiatch, biatch? All right, biatch? I mean, yeah, it might done been you yo, but it wasn't you, biatch. 

 **SAM**  
Well, I be thinkin it was.   
(Dude sits down on tha bed)  
I be thinkin maybe mo' than you know. 

 **DEAN  
** What tha hell do dat mean?

 **SAM  
** For tha last few weeks I've been havin ... Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I been havin these vibe. 

 **DEAN struttin ta tha bed ta sit opposite of Sam.  
** What vibe?

 **SAM  
** Rage. Hate. And I can't stop dat shit. It just gets worse. Dizzle by day, it gets worse. 

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass never holla'd at mah crazy ass all dis bullshit. 

 **SAM  
** I didn't wanna scare you, biatch. 

DEAN nods, slaps his knee, standz up.  
Well, bang-up thang on dis shit. 

 **SAM  
** Dean, tha yellow-eyed demon, you know dat schmoooove muthafucka has plans fo' mah dirty ass fo' realz. And we both know dat tha pimpin' muthafucka turned other lil pimps tha fuck into killaz before, like a muthafucka.

 **DEAN  
** No one can control you but you, biatch. 

 **SAM  
** It shizzle don't seem like that, Dean, it feels like no matta what tha fuck I do, slowly but surely I'm, I be just becoming... 

 **DEAN  
** What?

 **SAM  
** Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck I be meant ta be. I mean, you holla'd it once yo ass, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I gotta grill up ta whoz ass I am.

 **DEAN  
** I didn't mean this!

 **SAM  
** But itz still true. Yo ass know dis shit. Dad knew dat like a muthafucka. Thatz why tha pimpin' muthafucka holla'd at you, if it eva came ta dis . . . 

 **DEAN  
** Shut up, Sam.

 **SAM  
** Dean, you promised his muthafuckin ass. Yo ass promised mah dirty ass. 

 **DEAN  
** No. Listen ta mah dirty ass. We gonna figure dis out. Okay, biatch? I mean, there be a gotta be a way, right?

 **SAM**  
Yeah there is.   
(SAM takes a handgun from his fuckin lil' duffel, shoves it at DEAN)  
I don't wanna hurt any suckas. I don't wanna hurt you, biatch. 

DEAN looks down, all up in tha glock SAM is handin his muthafuckin ass.  
Yo ass won't. Whatever dis is, you can fight dat shit. 

 **SAM**  
(tearin up)  
No. I can't. Not forever n' shiznit yo. Here, you gotta do dat shit. 

They stare at each other fo' a long-ass moment; then SAM grabs DEAN'S right hand n' places tha glock up in dat shit. DEAN don't move, just stares as SAM up in shock. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM is shaky, upset.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass know, I've tried ta hard ta keep you safe. 

 **SAM**  
(nodding)  
I know. 

 **DEAN shakes his head no.  
** I can't. I'd rather take a thugged-out dirt nap. 

DEAN drops tha glock on tha bed n' shouldaz past SAM.

 **SAM**  
No. You'll live.   
(picks up tha glock as DEAN turns ta grill him)  
You'll live ta regret all dis bullshit. 

Dude pistol-whips DEAN, whoz ass falls ta tha floor unconscious.

BLACKOUT

An insistent knockin begins durin tha blackout. DEAN awakens ta realize dat he is on tha floor of tha motel room; tha motel manager, whoz ass has been knocking, opens tha door.

 **MANAGER  
** Hey. It aint nuthin but past yo' checkout. 

 **DEAN**  
(gettin up, straight-up groggy)  
What?

 **MANAGER  
** It aint nuthin but past checkout, n' I've gots a cold-ass lil couple here needz yo' room. 

 **DEAN**  
(seein a embarrassed bidnizzman wit a hooker)  
Yeah, I be bout ta bet they do. What time is it?

 **MANAGER  
** Twelve-thirty. 

 **DEAN  
** That muthafucka whoz ass was wit me, have you peeped him?

 **MANAGER  
** Yeah, he left before dawn up in yo' car, n' you should have gone wit him, cuz now I'ma gotta charge you extra. 

 **DEAN**  
(muttering)  
Oh, lil hustla of a...

 **MANAGER  
** It aint nuthin but just policy, sir. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. 

 **DEAN  
** I need ta use yo' computer.

 **MANAGER**  
Now, why would I let you use mah computer?  


  
INT. MOTEL LOBBY - DAY

Da MANAGER is countin a stack of chedda, as DEAN talks on tha beeper behind him, up in front of a thugged-out desktop computer n' shit. 

 **DEAN**  
Yea muthafucka, uh, so sorry ta bother you yo, but uh, mah lil hustla snuck outta tha doggy den last night and, uh, went ta a Quentin Trousersnake concert.   
(pause)  
What, biatch? Yeah. Fuck dat shit, Quentin is like tha triple threat. Uh, anyway, he not back yet, and, n' I be just, I be startin ta worry.   
(pause)  
Right. Yeah, thugs is ghon be thugs. But see, Sammy is uh uh uh, a gangbangin' finger-lickin' diabetic, n' uh, if da ruffneck don't git his crazy-ass muthafuckin insulin, I just, I gotta find his muthafuckin ass. Please, I be beggin you, biatch. Yeah, no no no, I"m on tha joint up in dis biatch, I just need ta activate tha GDS up in his beeper.  
(enterin a password; his GPS screen shows tha name DEAN J. MAHOGOFF, mobile beeper number 785-555-2804  
Yeah, right there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Duluth, Minnesota. Yeah, dat be a long-ass way ta go fo' a cold-ass lil concert. I appreciate yo' help.   


  
INT. JO'S BAR - NIGHT

JO, her back ta us, is scrubbin tha bar n' sayin git tha fuck outta ma bidnizz ta some hustlas.

 **JO  
** Dope night, fuck you, biatch. 

SAM entas n' clears his cold-ass throat.

 **JO**  
(her back ta him)  
Sorry, we closin up. 

 **SAM  
** How tha fuck bout just one fo' tha road?

 **JO**  
(turnin ta grill him, not lookin welcoming)  
Well, you bout tha last thug I'd expect ta see. 

 **SAM  
** Well, I guess I be full of surprises. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So can I git a funky-ass brew?

 **JO  
** Sure. One brew n' shit. 

JO brangs a funky-ass forty of brew over n' sets it down on tha bar firmly, then turns away, bustlin over cleanin up tha bar. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. 

 **JO  
** So how'd you find mah crazy ass son?

 **SAM  
** Well, uh, itz kind of what tha fuck our phat asses do, you know?

 **JO  
** Speakin of 'we', wherez Dean?

 **SAM  
** Couldn't make dat shit. 

 **JO  
** So what're you bustin here Sam, biatch? I mean our phat asses didn't exactly part on tha dopest of terms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. 

 **SAM  
** Right. Um, well, thatz why I be here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. (Takes off his jacket.) I kinda -- I wanted ta peep if we could square thangs, you know?

As SAM takes off his jacket, JO notices a cold-ass lil circular burn mark wit a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass short line all up in it on SAM'S forearm.

 **JO  
** That be lookin like it hurts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. 

 **SAM  
** No. Nah, just, just had a run-in wit a funky-ass bangin' stove. 

 **JO  
** So you was sayin suttin' bout squarin thangs?

 **SAM  
** Yeah. Um ... Look, I know how tha fuck you feel bout mah dad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! And I can't say I blame you, biatch. Dude was obsessed -- consumed wit hunting. And da ruffneck didn't care whoz ass gots caught up in tha cross-fire. And I guess dat included yo' dad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! But dat was mah daddy n' shit. Thatz not mah dirty ass. 

 **JO  
** What bout Dean?

 **SAM**  
Well, Deanz mo' like mah daddy than I am yo, but h-- . . .   
(off JO'S look)  
(laughs a lil) Boy. Yo ass is straight-up carryin a torch fo' him, aren't yo slick ass?  
(JO scoffs, uncomfortably)  
I be bout ta take dat as a yes. It aint nuthin but too bad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! (SAM is smilin tightly.) 'Cause see, Dean, he likes you, shizzle yo, but not up in tha way you'd want. I mean, maybe as kind of a . . . a lil sister, you know, biatch? But -- romance, thatz just outta tha question, he --   
(LAUGHS)  
he kind of be thinkin you a schoolgirl, you know?  
(pause)  
I aint tryin ta hurt you, Jo, I -- I be spittin some lyrics ta you 'cause I care. 

 **JO  
** Thatz real kind of you, Sam. 

 **SAM**  
I mean dat shit.  
(he places a hand over hers on tha bar, suggestively, possessively)  
I care bout you all muthafuckin day. It make me wanna hollar playa! 

 **JO  
** Sam, what tha fuck be happenin?

She tries ta pull her hand away but dat schmoooove muthafucka holdz it, won't let go.

 **SAM  
** I can be mo' ta you, Jo. 

 **JO  
** Maybe you should muthafuckin bounce. 

 **SAM  
** Okay.

Dude shoves her hand away n' standz ta leave; dat dunkadelic hoe turns ta grill tha bar, leanin on it heavily. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Suddenly SAM reappears, grabbin her from behind n' manhandlin her muthafuckin ass.

 **JO  
** Sam, git off me biaaatch! Sam! Git off me biaaatch! Let go! 

She closes her right hand on a funky-ass brew forty yo, but before dat thugged-out biiiatch can hit his ass wit it he grabs her wrist n' slams it onto tha bar, shatterin tha bottle. 

 **SAM  
** Jo, Jo, Jo. 

Dude shoves her round until she faces tha bar n' pins her there, left hand over her wrist, right hand strokin her hair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. 

 **JO  
** (Screams) Sam, no! No! Please biaaatch! Please biaatch!

Dude slams her forehead tha fuck into tha bar; her ass is knocked out, n' he lifts her carefully ta lie on tha bar, strokin her afro up in a gangbangin' finger-lickin' disturbingly gentle manner.

 **SAM  
** It didn't gotta be dis way. Maybe it done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! (Dude gives a evil grin.)


	4. ACT THREE

INT. BAR - NIGHT

A jukebox starts playin Da Doors' "Crystal Ship". Nearby, SAM is tyin JO up in a chillin posizzle ta a wide wooden post. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch slowly wakes up.

 **JO (comin to)  
** What tha hell is goin on, biatch? What is you bustin?

 **SAM  
** So what tha fuck exactly did yo' momma rap bout how tha fuck yo' daddy died?

 **JO  
** Yo ass aint Sam.

 **SAM  
** Don't be all kindsa shizzle bout dis shiznit fo' realz. Answer tha question.

JO say nothing; SAM sighs heavily n' goes round ta tha other side; da perved-out muthafucka sits up in front of her, leanin in, his wild lil' fuckin expression shiftin ta one of open concern, so check it before ya wreck it. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude pulls up a big-ass knife n' strokes her grill wit dat shit.

 **SAM  
** Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It aint nuthin but mah dirty ass. Yo ass can tell me anything, you know dis shiznit fo' realz. Answer n' shit. Da question.

 **JO  
** Fine.

 **SAM  
** Fine.

 **JO  
** Our dadz was up in California: Devilz Gate Reservoir. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. They was settin a trap fo' some kind of hellspawn. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Jizzy was hiding, waiting, n' mah daddy was bait.

 **SAM**  
(laughs)  
Thatz just like John. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Oh, I be bout ta bet da ruffneck dangled Bizzle like meat on a hook. Then what?

Dude gets up n' goes round ta stand behind her muthafuckin ass.

 **JO  
** Da thang flossed up. Jizzy gots too eager, jumped up too soon, gots mah daddy exposed, up in tha open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da thang turned round ... n' capped his muthafuckin ass.

 **SAM**  
(leanin up in from behind Jo)  
Hmm. Not quite.

 **JO  
** What?

 **SAM  
** What, biatch? Oh. See, it hurt his muthafuckin ass. It didn't bust a cap up in his muthafuckin ass. Yo ass straight-up don't give a fuck tha real deal, do yo slick ass, biatch? I bet yo' momma don't either.

SAM sits facin her again, leans up in close.

 **JO  
** Know what?

 **SAM  
** Yo ass see, Bizzle ... was all clawed up. Was holdin his crazy-ass muthafuckin insides up in his hands. Dude was gurglin n' ... prayin ta peep you n' Ellen one mo' time. So mah daddy ... capped his muthafuckin ass. Put his ass outta his crazy-ass misery like a sick dog.

 **JO (sobbing)  
** Yo ass is lying.

 **SAM**  
I be not. It aint nuthin but true.  
(quiet singsong)  
My fuckin daddy blasted yo' daddy up in tha head . . .

 **JO  
** How tha fuck could you know that?

 **SAM (standin up)  
** I hear thangs. 

Dude standz n' stabs tha knife tha fuck into tha pillar, just above head level.

 **JO  
** Why is you bustin dis ta me son?

 **SAM**  
Like Daddy like daughter n' shit. Yo ass is bait. Open up.   
(he shoves a knotted rag up in her grill n' tizzles it round her neck)  
Thatz a girl.

Da door bursts open n' DEAN enters, glock out.

 **DEAN  
** Sam!

SAM grabs tha knife from tha pillar, his calm expression shiftin ta one of desperate panic, n' places tha knife at JO'S throat.

 **SAM (yelling, soundin mo' like SAM again)  
** I begged you ta stop me, Dean.

 **DEAN  
** Put tha knife down, dammit.

 **SAM**  
I holla'd at you I can't fight dat shiznit son! My fuckin head feels like itz on fire, all right?! Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Bust a cap up in me, or I be goin ta bust a cap up in her n' shit. Please. You'd be bustin me a gangbangin' favor playa! Shoot mah dirty ass.   
(turnin ta grill DEAN, arms spread)  
Shoot me biaatch!

DEAN staring, glock steady, looks at JO outta tha corner of his wild lil' fuckin eye

 **DEAN**  
Fuck dat shit, Sammy, come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. 

DEAN turns away, lowerin tha gun.

 **SAM  
** What tha hellz wack wit you, Dean, biatch? Is you dat scared of bein ridin' solo dat you'd rather let Jo die?

DEAN turns suddenly, flingin wata from a gangbangin' flask at SAM; tha wata hisses n' steams as it strikes his muthafuckin ass. 

 **DEAN  
** Thatz holy water, you demonic lil hustla of a funky-ass biiiatch!

SAM raises his head; his wild lil' fuckin eyes is tha solid black of a thugged-out demon's. DEAN flings mo' holy wata at him; SAM growls, turns n' runs, burstin all up in a window n' fleeing. DEAN takes tha knife n' cuts JO free; she pulls tha gag outta her grill as DEAN runs towardz tha shattered window. 

 **JO**  
Dude was possessed?!  
(DEAN turns n' stares at her fo' a moment, then leaps all up in tha window.)  
Dean!

INT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

DEAN n' Possessed-SAM stalk each other all up in a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dim, crowded warehouse, each wit a handgun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Durin tha followin they never peep each other directly, instead hidin stealthily behind pilez n' boxes n' shoutin at each other n' shit. 

 **DEAN  
** So whoz ass is yo slick ass?

 **SAM  
** I gots fuckin shitloadz of names. 

 **DEAN  
** You've been up in Sam since da ruffneck disappeared, aint yo slick ass?

 **SAM  
** Yo ass shoulda peeped yo' grill when you thought he murdered dat muthafucka. Pathetic. 

 **DEAN  
** Why didn't you bust a cap up in me son, biatch? Yo ass had a thugged-out dozen chances.

 **SAM  
** Nah, dat would done been too easy as fuck . Wherez tha funk up in that, biatch? Yo ass see, dis was a test. Wanted ta peep if I could push you far enough ta waste Sam. Should've known you wouldn't have tha sack. Anyway. Funz over now, nahmeean, biatch? 

 **DEAN  
** Well, I hope you gots yo' kicks. 'Cause you gonna pay hell fo' this, I'ma make shizzle of dis shit. 

 **SAM  
** How, biatch? Yo ass can't hurt mah dirty ass. Not without hurtin yo' lil brutha n' shit. (Dean is puttin his wild lil' freakadelic glock away, pullin up tha flask of holy water.) See, I be thinkin you gonna die, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass n' every last muthafuckin other hunta I can find. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! One look as Samz dewey, sensitizzle eyes, biatch? They'll let me right up in they door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. 

Possessed-SAM gets up, headin outside; DEAN bigs up. They is on a open-air dock. Once DEAN is up in tha open, lookin round all up in tha water, SAM steps out, takes aim, n' blasts DEAN, hittin his ass up in tha shoulder n' shit. DEAN is knocked tha fuck into tha wata wit a splash; SAM stalks ta tha edge n' peers over where DEAN fell; not seein DEAN up in tha water, da perved-out muthafucka smiles.


	5. ACT FIVE

EXT. DOCKS - NIGHT

JO is struttin quickly all up in tha docks, a gangbangin' flashllight up in one hand n' her cell beeper up in tha other; dat thugged-out biiiatch callin DEAN, n' his voicemail picks up:

 **DEAN'S VOICE  
** This is Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Leave a message. 

JO hangs up tha beeper wit a funky-ass bust a funky-ass big-ass fart of frustration n' continues searching. Moments lata dat thugged-out biiiatch calls again, n' dis time hears DEAN'S ringtone comin from below her, by tha gin n juice n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch runs down ta where he is lyin unconscious all up in tha bottom of a ramp. 

 **JO**  
Dean! Dean!  
(he wakes wit a groan, coughing; his schmoooove ass straight-up wet)  
Take it easy as fuck . 

 **DEAN**  
(shudderin n' groanin up in pain)  
Wherez Sam?

 **JO  
** I don't give a fuck, I've been lookin fo' you, biatch. Come on, git up. 

She helps his ass ta stand, n' he leans on her heavily, groaning, clutchin his shoulder, as they strutt back ta tha bar.  


  
INT. BAR - NIGHT

DEAN is seated at a table, grippin tha edge wit his bangin right hand as JO digs tha cap outta his fuckin left shoulder n' shit. Dat punk groanin loudly.

 **JO  
** Don't be a funky-ass baby hommie!

 **DEAN  
** Dogg dawwwg!

 **JO  
** Almost. All right, gots dat shit. Got dat shit. 

She drops tha bloodstained cap up in a glass of clear alcohol. DEAN takes all dem healthy swigs from a funky-ass forty of whiskey. 

 **DEAN  
** God, you a funky-ass butcher.

 **JO**  
(sarcastically)  
Yo ass is welcome. 

 **DEAN  
** All right, is our phat asses done?

 **JO**  
Would you give me two minutes ta patch you up, biatch? Yo ass can't help Sam if you bleedin ta dirtnap.   
(Dean takes another swig as Jo continues layerin gauze n' tape over tha wound)   
So, how tha fuck did you know, biatch? That da thug was possessed?

 **DEAN  
** Uh, ah, I didn't, I just knew dat it couldn't done been his muthafuckin ass.

 **JO  
** Yo, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. 

 **DEAN  
** Yeah?

 **JO  
** I know demons lie yo, but ... do they eva tell tha real deal too?

 **DEAN  
** Uh, um, yeah, sometimes, I guess. Especially if they know it'll mess wit yo' head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! (Another swig.) Why do you ask?

 **JO  
** Nothing. Don't matter n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So do you have any scam where dat schmoooove muthafucka headed ta next?

 **DEAN  
** Well, so far his thugged-out lil' punk-ass been goin afta tha nearest hunter, so . . . closest one I know lives up in Downtown Dakota. 

 **JO  
** Okay good, I be done. Letz go.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah. (Standin up.) Yo ass aint coming.

 **JO  
** Da hell I be not. I be a part of dis now, nahmeean, biatch? 

 **DEAN  
** I can't say it mo' plain than all dis bullshit. Yo ass try ta gangbang me n' I be bout ta tie you right back ta dat post n' leave you here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. This is mah fight. I aint gettin yo' blood on mah hands. Thatz just how tha fuck itz gonna be.

 **JO**  
Wait.  
(he turns back, n' dat freaky freaky biatch handz up a prescription pill bottle.)  
Here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Take these, they'll help wit tha pain.

 **DEAN  
** Thanks. I be bout ta call you later, aiiight?

 **JO**  
(to her muthafuckin ass, afta DEAN is gone)  
No you won't.  


  
EXT. ROAD - NIGHT

It aint nuthin but drizzlin as DEAN drives down a thugged-out dark stretch of road; da ruffneck dials a number on his cell.

ELSEWHERE, a funky-ass beeper rings nuff muthafuckin times, until SAM'S handz come tha fuck into frame n' cut tha beeper line hustlin outside tha house.

DEAN looks at his beeper n' sighs. 

 **DEAN**  
Dammit.  


  
EXT yo. HOUSE - NIGHT

SAM strutts slowly up tha steps ta tha doggy den n' knocks on tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. It aint nuthin but opened ta reveal:

 **BOBBY**  
(grinnin n' bustin up wit pleasure)  
Sam!

 **SAM (barin his cold-ass teeth up in a smile)  
** Yo, Bobby.

 **BOBBY**  
It aint nuthin but been a while.   
(SAM grins sheepishly)  
Well, come on in.

SAM entas slowly, glancin all up in tha ceiling, n' BOBBY shuts tha door behind his muthafuckin ass. They strutt together tha fuck into BOBBY'S study, which is dimly lit n' covered wall ta wall wit stackz of books n' papers.

 **BOBBY  
** So what tha fuck brangs yo slick ass?

 **SAM  
** Workin a thang nearby, n' thought I'd stop up in n' say hey.

 **BOBBY  
** Well, wherez Dean?

 **SAM**  
(laughs)  
Holed up somewhere wit a hoe n' a twelve pack.

BOBBY goes tha fuck into tha back room; SAM, left alone, eyes tha ceilin again.

 **BOBBY**  
(off screen)  
Oh yeah, biatch? Biatch pretty?

 **SAM**  
(his eyes cloud over black fo' a moment)  
Yo ass ask me, he up in way over his head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! 

BOBBY returns wit a funky-ass brew up in each hand; dat schmoooove muthafucka handz one ta SAM.

 **BOBBY**  
Well, itz phat ta peep you, biatch.  
(raisin his bottle)  
To John.

 **SAM  
** To Dad.

They toast n' swig tha brew, SAM turnin ta look up all up in tha ceilin again; as da perved-out muthafucka swallows tha brew da perved-out muthafucka spews suddenly, choking, fallin ta his handz n' knees n' coughin n' gaggin painfully. BOBBY sips his brew, unconcerned.

 **SAM  
** What'd you do?!

 **BOBBY  
** A lil holy wata up in tha brew n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sam never would have noticed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! But then, you not Sam is you, biatch. Don't try ta con a cold-ass lil con man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. 

Dude slams his wild lil' fist tha fuck into SAM'S face, knockin his ass out.  


LATER, SAM-demon is tied ta a cold-ass lil chair, before a gangbangin' fire n' under tha straight-up same protectizzle circle used up in "Devilz Trap" on MEG-demon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. DEAN smacks his ass up in tha grill ta wake his muthafuckin ass.

 **DEAN  
** Hey.

SAM looks up, sees tha painted Devilz Trap. Dean looks up like a muthafucka.

 **SAM  
** Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Back from tha dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Gettin ta be a regular thang fo' you, aint it, biatch? Like a cold-ass lil cockroach. 

 **DEAN  
** How tha fuck bout I smack dat smartass right outta yo' grill?

 **SAM  
** Oh, careful, now, nahmeean, biatch? Wouldn't wanna bruise dis fine packaging. 

 **DEAN**  
Oh quit freakin' tha fuck out, dis aint gonna hurt Sam much.   
(turns ta pick up a funky-ass bucket)  
You, on tha other hand ... 

DEAN tosses a funky-ass bucketful of holy wata on SAM-demon, whoz ass sizzlez n' roars. 

 **DEAN  
** Feel like poppin' off now?

 **SAM  
** Samz still mah meat puppet. I be bout ta make his ass bite off his cold-ass tongue. 

 **DEAN  
** Fuck dat shit, you won't be up in his ass long enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Bobby.

 **BOBBY**  
(readin up in Latin)  
_Exorcisamus te, omnes up in mundus spiritus_  
omnes satanica potestas, omnes incursio ...  
(continues)

 **DEAN**  
(talkin over BOBBY)  
See, whatever biiiatch-boy masta plan you demons is cookin up, biatch? Yo ass aint gettin Sam. Yo ass KNOW me son, biatch? 'Cause I'ma bust a cap up in every last muthafuckin one of y'all first. 

SAM-demon strugglez painfully, then throws back his head n' laughs maniacally. BOBBY cuts off up in surprise. 

 **SAM  
** Yo ass straight-up be thinkin thatz what tha fuck dis be about, biatch? Da masta plan, biatch? I don't give a ratz ass bout tha masta plan. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. 

 **BOBBY  
** Humiliares sub potente magnu dei...

 **SAM**  
Oops. Don't seem ta be working. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. See, I hustled all dem freshly smoked up tricks.  
(he lowers his head n' begins growlin Latin)  
_Spiritus up in mundus, un glorum suarum umitite palatum iram, domine ..._ (continues)

Da fire behind his ass flares n' tha room shakes as his schmoooove ass continues. 

 **DEAN  
** This aint goin like I pictured hommie! Whatz goin on, Bobby?

 **BOBBY**  
(seein tha burn mark on SAM'S forearm as SAM!demon continues ta chant)  
It aint nuthin but a funky-ass bindin link! It aint nuthin but like a lock! Dat punk locked his dirty ass inside Samz body hommie!

 **DEAN  
** What tha hell do our phat asses do?

 **BOBBY  
** I don't give a fuck!

SAM throws back his head n' screams; tha bobbin walls n' ceilings begin ta crack, breakin tha protectizzle circle. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM-demonz eyes is black as he lowers his head.

 **SAM  
** There, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Thatz better.

Dude jerks his head left; BOBBY goes flyin yo. Dude jerks his head right; DEAN goes flying, landin heavily against tha far wall. Da holy wata flask falls from DEAN'S hand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! DEAN is flinchin up in pain from his shoulder n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM rips free of tha restraints n' stalks over ta DEAN. 

 **SAM  
** Yo ass know when playas wanna describe tha worse possible thang, biatch? They say itz like hell.

SAM kneels up in front of DEAN, fistin his fuckin left hand up in DEAN'S hoodie n' clockin his ass hard wit a right jab. DEAN grabs onto SAM'S hoodie wit his bangin right hand.

 **SAM**  
Yo ass know there be a a reason fo' dis shiznit yo. Hell is like, um ...  
(he hits DEAN again)  
Well, itz like hell. Even fo' demons.  
(hits his ass again; DEAN is groggy n' bleedin heavily from his nose)  
It aint nuthin but a prison, made of bone n' flesh n' blood n' fear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke.   
(hits his ass again; then grabs DEAN'S head, holdin it steady)  
And you busted mah crazy ass back there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. 

 **DEAN**  
(sneering)  
Meg. 

 **SAM**  
No. Not no mo'. Now I be Sam.   
(hits his ass one mo' time; then digs his bangin right thumb tha fuck into DEAN'S cap wound)  
By tha way. I saw yo' Dad there - da perved-out muthafucka say "howdy".   
(he digs up in further; DEAN tries ta pull SAM'S hand away, groanin up in pain)  
All dat I had ta hold onto, was dat I would climb up one day, n' dat I was goin ta torture you, biatch. Sick n' slow. Like pullin tha wings off a insect.   
(he shoves DEAN'S graspin hand away)  
But whatever I do ta you, itz not a god damn thang compared ta what tha fuck you do ta yo ass, is it, biatch? I can peep it up in yo' eyes, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass is worthless. Yo ass couldn't save yo' Dad, n' deep down ... you know dat you can't save yo' brutha n' shit. They'd done been betta off without you, biatch.

SAM rears back ta hit DEAN again; suddenly BOBBY is there, grabbin SAM'S arm yo. Dude presses a funky-ass bangin' poker tha fuck into tha mark on SAM'S arm; da perved-out muthafucka screams up in pain, then screams again n' again n' again as black demon smoke billows outta his ass n' up tha chimney. DEAN pulls his dirty ass up painfully. SAM falls back, then comes ta his dirty ass, scrabblin n' lookin round up in mad drama, then grabs his thugged-out arm up in sudden pain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. 

 **DEAN  
** Sammy?

 **SAM  
** Did I miss anything?

DEAN rears back n' right-hooks SAM up in tha cheek, then rolls his wild lil' fuckin eyes n' collapses. SAM grabs his cheek up in mad drama.


	6. ACT FIVE

INT. BOBBY'S HOUSE - NIGHT

SAM is chillin behind BOBBY'S table wit a icepack on his thugged-out arm, DEAN is on tha other side of tha table groggily holdin a icebag ta his wild lil' face. 

 **SAM**  
(cautiously)  
By tha way, you straight-up be lookin like crap, Dean.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, right back atcha.

BOBBY strutts up in slowly, lookin concerned.

 **SAM  
** What tha fuck iz it, Bobby?

 **BOBBY  
** Yo ass thugs eva hear of a hunta named Steve Wandell?

 **DEAN  
** Why do you ask?

 **BOBBY  
** Just heard from a gangbangin' playa yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Wandellz dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Murdered up in his own house. (Sam swallows, looks down.) Yo ass wouldn't know anythang bout all dis bullshit.

 **DEAN  
** No sir, never heard of tha muthafucka.

 **SAM  
** Dean -- 

 **BOBBY  
** Good. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Keep it dat way. Wandellz buddies is lookin fo' one of mah thugs or suttin' ta strang up, n' they not goin ta slow down ta dig reason. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass KNOW what tha fuck I be saying?

 **DEAN  
** We betta hit tha road. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! If, uh, you can remember where we parked tha car. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. 

 **BOBBY  
** Here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Take these n' you can put dat on yo' toast. 

Dude handz each of dem a lil' small-ass metal charm.

 **SAM  
** What is they?

 **BOBBY  
** Charms. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. They'll fend off possession. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. That demonz still up there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. This'll stop it from gettin back up in ya. 

 **DEAN  
** That soundz vaguely dirty yo, but uh, props.

 **BOBBY  
** Yo ass is welcome. Yo ass thugs be careful now, nahmeean?

 **SAM  
** Yo ass like a muthafucka.

Sam smilez at Bobby. Bobby looks back at his ass seriously, not returnin tha smile. At tha door, DEAN tosses tha icebag back ta BOBBY. Bobby smilez a lil at DEAN.   


EXT. ROAD - NIGHT

DEAN is rollin down a thugged-out dark stretch of highway; over tha followin scene, REO Speedwagonz "Back on tha Road Again" plays. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM is frownin on tha fuckin' down-lowly, n' DEAN glances over up in concern.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass aiiight, biatch? Sam, biatch? Is dat you up in there?

 **SAM  
** I was awake fo' a shitload of it, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I peeped mah dirty ass bust a cap up in Wandell wit mah own two hands; I saw tha light go up in his wild lil' fuckin eyes. 

 **DEAN  
** That must done been awful.

 **SAM  
** Thatz not mah point. I almost carved up Jo like a muthafucka. But no matta what tha fuck I did, you wouldn't blast.

 **DEAN  
** Dat shiznit was tha right move, Sam. It wasn't you, biatch.

 **SAM  
** Yeah, dis time. What bout next time?

 **DEAN  
** Sam, when Dad holla'd at mah crazy ass ... dat I might gotta bust a cap up in you, dat shiznit was only if I couldn't save you, biatch. Now, if itz tha last thang I do I'ma save you, biatch. 

Afta a pause, DEAN laughs softly.

 **SAM  
** What?

 **DEAN  
** Nothing.

 **SAM  
** Dean, what?

 **DEAN**  
Dude, you -- you like, full-on had a hoe inside you fo' like a whole week.  
(laughs)

SAM'S frown cracks, n' he laughs wit DEAN.

 **DEAN  
** Thatz pretty naughty.

They drive on.


End file.
